


Adventures in Narnia

by trustingHim17



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Narnia2021
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingHim17/pseuds/trustingHim17
Summary: A collection of oneshots in response to the Adventures in Narnia promptfest at fanfiction.net/forum/Adventures-in-Narnia/228951/
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1: Prompt 2 - Living gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't plan on writing for this, but when the plot bunny waves, you have to write it down :)

One touch. Just one touch, and it would be over.

She watched Him pad slowly closer, apparently never noticing her wretched form hidden in the archway. He so rarely made an appearance in Anvard that the crowd around Him filled the hall. He would be leading the throng toward a nearby courtyard to teach, to visit.

To heal those that asked.

Unworthy. She was unworthy. She had not known Him in childhood, had not even heard His Name until her thirtieth year, when the Tarkaan that had called himself her husband had abandoned her in Anvard. The Archenlanders were kind, and she would far rather be here than in that dark, dirty city she had called home for so many years, but none of them had been able to help her. None of them had been able to cure the reason Arshish had left her behind.

Cured or not, she would never go back to _him,_ but could she bring herself to go to Him?

The hall echoed with the voices of the crowd, each person wanting to speak to Him, touch Him, be near Him. He accepted it all easily, placing a Lion’s kiss on the forehead of a young girl before speaking some truth, some comfort to the castle’s youngest—and newest—widow. All could go to Aslan without fear.

But the Archenlanders had served Him for years. Generations. She had served Tash until even he had deserted her, too.

She did not deserve the healing that lived in that golden mane.

“Aslan!”

The frantic voice preceded the young man sprinting toward them, pushing through the throng.

“Aslan, please.” The man hit his knees before the Great Lion, head bowed low. “My daughter—”

He could not continue, but there was no need. Aslan nudged the man upright, catching the father’s worried gaze.

“Do I need to come with you?” the Great Lion asked.

The man quickly shook his head, mute though the pleading in his face spoke for him, and Aslan’s expression softened.

“Well done,” He rumbled. “Go to her.”

Immense joy flooded the young father’s expression, and he unashamedly threw his arms as far around Aslan’s neck as he could reach before bolting back the way he had come. Word would come of his daughter’s healing within minutes, she knew.

That still did not answer her question, however. Could she do that?

Not ask. She could not ask as he did, could not allow every eye in the area to focus on _her._ Archenlanders were kinder than Calormenes, but she still met wary gazes and fearful movements everywhere she went. Many were too afraid of becoming _like_ her to see what they did _to_ her every time they shied away.

So she could not fall at His feet, could not ask in front of the crowd, but one touch would do the same thing. The slightest brush of paw, mane, or tail would heal her completely, and He would be free to listen to the others as she slipped away, unnoticed by all but the One that could heal her. He would not deny her healing, though she could not imagine He would want her any more than anyone else did.

Could she accept the healing, unworthy though she was? She would have to decide soon.

That was why she had hidden in the archway. Here was her greatest chance, if she chose to take it. In this one spot, He would have to lead the crowd instead of being part of it. None could pass Him in this narrow opening.

She readjusted as He came closer, waiting for the moment, watching as even the woman walking at His side fell in behind Him, counting the steps until He would be within reach. Could she do it?

Yes. None noticed the small, misshapen hand lightly brush that golden mane. No one even looked at her when she gasped, feeling her energy return as pain receded and deformity straightened. Years of pain eased in an instant, and, caught in the utter _relief_ that came from its absence, she failed to note when a Presence stopped in front of her.

“Daughter of Eve.”

She looked up, her breath leaving her in a rush as that majestic gaze met hers. She immediately fell to her knees, eyes on His paws.

“Aslan,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

Gasps of surprise came from the gathered crowd as they recognized her, but she paid them no heed as a Lion’s kiss brushed her forehead.

“All who come to Me are Mine,” He told her, “no matter their history.”

She lifted her eyes in surprise. “But—”

“All who come to Me are Mine, Dear One.”

He _wanted_ her!

He smiled as the wonder filled her face. “Come.” He turned, glancing back once to be sure she understood, and she joined the crowd behind Him.

They welcomed her, but she had eyes only for the One who had welcome her first.

Perhaps Archenland could become home after all.


	2. Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Prompt 6 - (In the bookverse) how did Digory discover the Four had gone to Narnia?

“Forsooth, Sister. I know not about ‘strange adventures,’ but this is indeed a change in our fortunes.”

Digory froze in the middle of the hallway, listening to familiar, young voices speak in a manner so foreign compared to their speech just hours before.

“Oh, _Edmund._ I never—To think that we might never go _back!”_

“Calm yourself, Lucy. I shall miss our home as well, but mayhap we need not grieve yet. Does the door remain open?”

Footsteps faded away from the hall. “Nay, My Queen,” came the answer. “The way home is closed. We are here, for now.”

_Queen?_

He pushed open the door to the spare room to find his charges in various states of grief. The eldest stood in front of that old wardrobe, and the middle two sat near the youngest on the floor. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him, grief immediately hidden.

“Professor,” Peter said stiffly, seeming to struggle over the title. He tried to say more, but each word ended before it was fully formed.

“I fear we are responsible for the loss of four of your coats, my lo—Professor,” Edmund said after a moment, also stumbling over the title.

That startled a watery laugh out of Lucy, but it was Peter that spoke, a smile of thanks on his own face.

“Keen memory, you have. ‘Tis no wonder you are called the Just.”

Edmund grinned, obviously please at lifting some of the grief from his siblings’ faces.

“It was winter, then,” Digory, replied, easing himself into a chair in the corner. “How long were you in Narnia?”

“You know of Narnia?” Lucy asked.

He nodded sharply. “Of course. That tree,” he answered, gesturing at the wardrobe, “grew from an apple plucked from the Tree of Protection.”

All four glanced at the wardrobe with wide eyes, but Lucy found her words first.

“Lord Digory and Lady Polly,” Lucy breathed, “who journeyed to the Garden on Fledge at the beginning. ‘Twas _you.”_

Digory nodded, glancing between them. It had been many years since “the beginning,” as she called it.

“How many years were you there?” he asked again, expecting five, maybe ten. At their ages, it would not have taken long for their speech to change.

Susan had been watching silently, but now she gracefully rose to stare at the wardrobe, standing tall despite the grief in her shoulders.

“For it was in the fortieth year of the reign of the Four,” she murmured, “that the White Stag was sighted in Narnia.”

Oh dear. He could see it, now. The light in their eyes, the knowledge beyond their years. They were not much younger than him.

Edmund stood to put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “As Aslan has declared we are to be here for a time,” he said gravely. “there seems no reason to stare at the door. I propose we adjourn to a more comfortable room and exchange our respective tales. What say you, Gentle Sister?”

She hesitated but finally sighed. “Aye, Brother. ‘Tis little use to stare at a closed door.”

Offering Susan his arm, Peter led the way out the door, Edmund and Lucy a step behind, and Digory studied them as he followed.

Speaking the courtly tongue, carrying themselves like the Kings and Queens they apparently were, not only had they ruled the country whose birth he had witnessed, they had ruled it well.

Everything else was just details.


	3. Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kidnap me from my reality / and crushed pieces of my soul / colour me outside the lines / until my shattered heart is whole" - Perry Poetry. Use this quote as your inspiration, whether you actually include it or not.

_Cornered in a hallway. Bruises, but never where someone else could see. “Work for us, or else.”_

“You can take care of this, Pevensie.”

He glanced at the wide-eyed face of the classmate two years younger, then back at the bigger boy. This was _wrong_. He should not be doing this, but…it was them or him.

He made his choice, and that choice started him down a path that, if continued, had only one ending.

_Kidnap me from my reality_

He could not help but wonder what the others were doing, through that long, cold night.

He wondered if they were still at the Table, if they had found Aslan, if they were safe. That was better than focusing on his painful mouth, his bound arms, his bleeding injuries. He wished he had never laid eyes on Her Maj—on Jadis. She was no queen. Queens were supposed to be as kind as they were beautiful, and Jadis was just cruel.

“How is our little _prince?”_

A rough, lined face appeared abruptly in front of him, and he leaned into the tree at his back. Ginarrbrik was worse than his mistress, and he had already spent many hours ensuring Edmund would not sleep tonight. Edmund had no wish to feel the bite of that whip again.

The whip stayed away, however, as Ginarrbrik settled for words this time. Edmund watched closely even as he let his thoughts wander.

He doubted he would see the others again, not after what he had done. Peter, Susan, Lucy, none of them would want him back after this.

He simply hoped they stayed far away from here.

_And crushed pieces of my soul_

A commotion sounded from the other end of the camp. A Minotaur bellowed. Steel clashed. A horse galloped over the hard ground.

The galloping came closer, and Ginarrbrik broke off mid-insult to spin in place, staring at the Centaur approaching rapidly.

The Centaur was not alone, and the resulting altercation could not truly be called a battle. The tight bonds dissolved with the flick of a knife, and the Centaur scooped him up, leading his other rescuers free of that horrid camp.

“My brother and sisters?” he asked quietly.

“Safe.”

The single, gruff word birthed a flood of relief. The others were safe, and even if the Centaur was taking him to Aslan, whatever punishment Aslan dealt for going to Jadis was better than being with Jadis.

The regular thudding of the Centaur’s feet soothed him, and he did not fight the urge to sleep.

_Colour me outside the lines_

“Do—do you think I can do it? Be a king?”

Peter finally looked up from the circlet in his hand.

“Do you think I can?” he asked in return.

Edmund frowned, seating himself on the balcony next to his brother as their coronation party continued in the courtyard below.

“Why couldn’t you?”

“I’m only thirteen,” Peter answered. “Who leads a country at thirteen?”

“You, obviously.”

His brother grinned. “Then why do you think you can’t?”

“Because—because…” The words refused to come. How could a traitor be a king?

“Edmund.” He glanced up as Peter’s arm hesitantly landed over his shoulders. “Aslan said, ’What’s done is done,’ Ed, and He meant it. I don’t think He makes mistakes.”

His worry faded, for the moment anyway, and he leaned into his brother as the party carried on below them.

_Until my shattered heart is whole_

“Peter! You little prat!”

“What’s wrong, Eddie? I thought you liked to swim.”

He spit out another mouthful of seawater. “Not when it’s twenty degrees!”

His brother merely grinned. “That’s for the ice in my bed, little brother. Now get inside. I left a fire burning in your bedroom.”

All he could do was sputter and storm off, the chill quickly seeping through his wet clothes. His valet had him bundled near the flames well before Peter finally came to check on him, but Peter never expected the thrown apple tart.

It hardly made up for the icy swim, but even the High King could not be intimidating with apple tart on his forehead. Lucy would help him finish the payback later.

Or maybe Susan would. It had been quite a while since he last heard _that_ tone from the Gentle Queen. He huddled deeper into the blankets, content to listen to his not-so-Gentle sister explain that dumping someone in the ocean in the middle of winter was _not_ a valid prank.

Lucy helped him sew Peter’s trouser legs shut the next day. The irritated yells more than made up for an hour of shivering next to the fire—and started a prank war that lasted a week. Who said being a King had to be boring?


	4. Independent Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 14: Tell a tale that happens on the day all of Narnia celebrates love, couples, and chocolate. (Please remember to keep your stories to a T rating or below.)  
> Not everyone wants the same thing on the most useless holiday of the year.

"He asked you to the ball?!" A high-pitched squeal accompanied the excited question, and she ducked around the corner before the nymphs could see her. It was the fourteenth of the month and her least favorite holiday: the day every Narnian thought they needed an escort—and thought everyone else did too.

She begged to differ.

Diving into an alcove to avoid the Cair's most prominent matchmaker, she continued only when the coast was clear. She needed to reach her hideout before someone came to drag her to the ball.

The clip-clop of Centaur hooves sounded on the stone, and she recognized the uneven gait. She bolted behind a nearby tapestry, one that covered a passage leading to another hallway. His wife was probably searching for her, but the Centaur kept moving. She followed the passage to its end, emerging in a less-travelled corridor.

Less traveled did not mean safe, however. Amatheia, one of the younger matchmakers, came out of another passageway, and she barely had time to dodge out of sight. The gossipy Peahen never noticed the youngest princess on top of a high table.

Around the corner. Down the hall. Turn right. There, behind the tapestry depicting the fourth Queen slaying a Fell Minotaur. Voices sounded behind her, and she bolted the last few feet. 

"Cas—!"

The door clicked shut, and the bar fell into place as she breathed a sigh of relief.

Safe. 

The room was empty, save for the supplies she had stored here the day before, and she did not think anyone had seen her enter. She could hide here for the day. If no one could find her hideout, no one could make her dance with the smelly Prince Ronin. The boy enjoyed playing with the Skunks and never seemed to realize that avoiding their spray did not avoid their scent. How nobody else noticed she would never know.

The muffled voices faded away from the door as she pulled a book off the shelf, and she settled into the needed warmth of a pile of pillows and blankets. The temperature was well below zero, and there was no fire in her hideout, but she quickly grew warm in her cocoon. She started reading.

Hours passed in blessed silence, lost in her books and eating from the supply of meat, cheese, and—of course—chocolate she had stored here in preparation for today. This was much better than pretending to enjoy a ball where she had to dance with clingy visiting nobles and engage in small talk with air headed second sons. Her bossy older sister could deal with that. _She_ liked it.

A patterned knock interrupted her book's climax, and she pulled herself from the pages as it came again.

"Let me in!"

The owner of that voice knew the rules of the hideout, and, heaving a sigh born more at having to get up than from the invasion on her sanctuary, she pulled herself from the warm cocoon and unbarred the door. Familiar, red-headed curls hurried through. 

"Thank you!" the younger girl breathed. "Amatheia was trying to find me. She wants me to dance with Speiliro." The cherry dryad gave a faint shudder. Amatheia had not yet learned the concept that some people were happily single, and she became an absolute menace this time of year. Speiliro took full advantage of it, using her to set up dates—better known as ambushes—to catch single ladies unawares.

Both girls would rather do almost anything instead of dancing with such an obnoxious Faun.

"They do not know of this room." A smiling gesture indicated the unused piles of blankets. "Pick a cocoon," and she burrowed back into the lingering warmth of her own pile, book in hand.

Her friend burrowed into another portion of the main pile, and silence fell between them, each caught in a fictional world. Small fingers occasionally appeared to claim a piece of chocolate, and when the wind kicked up, a small back rested against her own. She merely smiled and kept reading.

Peaceful company, books, and chocolate was _much_ better than the ridiculous frippery caused by the date. Not everyone needed an escort. Some people were perfectly happy on their own.

She doubted that would ever change.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
